The Luxury Tax Club
by notcardinalrichelieu
Summary: DISCONTINUED UGH DONT READ THIS ITS TRASH I WAS 14 OK Willy Wonka lived a peaceful - albeit strange - life, until he didn't. Charlie forgot about the lady who gave him cakes and knew things she shouldn't, until he remembered. Francis was someone else, and then two governments called her, and she wasn't./Your average, everyday tale of lust and blackmail. Neither fluffy nor romantic.
1. 1 - The Persuasion

New look, same great taste:

This was originally published under the title _Icing on the Cake_ but that story was total trash. The basic plot is still the same, but this story is much more finessed, because, let's be honest, I had zero idea what I was doing. There's like a sub-plot and everything now.

I : The Persuasion

 **A/N- Trying to make an original fanfiction where there's only different shades of villains and a one-sided romance like …**

 **Rights go to rightful owners, I own nothing, review, etc.**

 _"My house in Budapest, my hidden treasure chest, golden grand piano, my beautiful Castillo, to you I'd leave it all." - George Ezra (Budapest)_

Charlie burst in the door at exactly a quarter to six, and hung up his hat with gusto. Nearly tripping over himself in his haste to get to the kitchen, he exclaimed, "It sure is getting cold out there!"

"It's supposed to snow tomorrow," commented Mr. Bucket, glancing away from the weather report on the television. Charlie's whole face lit up. Snow was always magical, but it was particularly so when one had a thick coat on.

"Maybe I convince Mr. Wonka to go outside with me!" he said.

"Fat chance of that," said Grandpa George dourly. He looked as though he was about to say something else, but a polite knock at the door cut him off.

"Come in!" said the Bucket family, as one.

Wonka appeared appeared in the doorway, looking slightly anxious and out of place. He deposited his cane in the umbrella stand by the door.

"Mr. Wonka," Charlie began, setting out the dinner dishes, "would you like to go for a walk outside with me tomorrow? It's supposed to snow!"

Wonka looked quite torn. He did not like refusing Charlie anything, but the prospect of leaving his beloved factory for the city streets was rather terrifying. "Um…" he began, ringing his hands, "I'm so terribly busy tomorrow, perhaps another time…" He trailed off, looking frantically around the room as if trying to find another excuse hidden somewhere.

"But Mr. Wonka, you said this morning that you were going to be free tomorrow," Charlie protested. "And you haven't been out in positively _ages_!" He looking pleadingly at the chocolatier.

"Maybe...uh...sometime else…" Poor Willy looked exceptionally uncomfortable.

Charlie switched tactics. "You know how you asked me what I wanted for Christmas?"

Willy sensed where this was going and stepped closer to the door. "You said you didn't want anything."

"Yes, well, I want you to come with me tomorrow to look at all the window displays and see the snow!" exclaimed Charlie.

Willy sighed. "There will be so many people at this time of year…"

In the background Grandpa George muttered, "Wow, didn't see that one coming. People? In the city? At Christmas? Never would have guessed." He might have continued but Grandma Josephine slapped him.

Charlie resorted to sticking out his lower lip slightly and looking pleadingly up through his eyelashes at Willy.

"...alright." Willy gave in. Resisting that look was simply too hard.

Charlie beamed from ear to ear and pulled out a chair at the dinner table for his mentor.


	2. 2 - The Outside

**II : The Outside**

 **A/N- The location of the chocolate factory is never really disclosed anywhere. In my mind the city is a bit of a cross between NYC and London, which I have deemed "New Manhattan" for all intents and purposes. Not that anyone really cares.**

 **Rights go to their rightful owners.**

 **Review? *winks at you with both eyes***

" _I know she's capable of anything, it's riveting." - The Weeknd (In the Night)_

Charlie did his schoolwork primarily through the mail now that he was Willy Wonka's heir. The press and paparazzi refused to leave him alone for the first two weeks after he moved in and after one particularly stressful encounter, they all agreed he would only go into school for tests, quizzes, and that sort of thing. It was nice, because he could wake up later and do his work when he liked, but sometimes Charlie wanted his teachers back. His parents were always rather busy and he could never get a straight answer out of Mr. Wonka.

At any rate, our favourite heir finished his studies at a record pace and was ready to leave at one-thirty that afternoon. Not so for Willy Wonka. He was attempting to procrastinate for as long as he possibly could. Luckily Charlie caught on and fairly dragged him out the side entrance. The front gates would have attracted far too much suspicion from the public.

It had snowed lightly during the night, leaving a thin, powdery blanket over the city.

"Let's cut through Hyde Gardens and catch a cab down to 17th Street where all the sweet shops are," suggested Charlie. "And we could see your old shop!"

"Whatever you want," said Willy, who was rather caught up in trying to become invisible.

It had begun to snow again, and the tops of their shoulders were dusted with fat flakes. The backs of the many benches scattered about were heaped in snow. Seeing his opportunity, Charlie scooped up a handful and tossed it at the back of his mentor. Said target spun around upon impact.

"You're going to very much regret that," said Mr. Wonka, scooping up his own handful of snow and chucking it at his heir.

* * *

Twenty minutes later found them strolling leisurely down 16th Street, examining the festive window displays.

Charlie was suddenly struck with a thought.

Before the factory, he had often frequented a little patisserie just around the corner from where they were now. Charlie hadn't thought about that particular place in quite a while. He felt a little guilty about that, to be honest. After all the owner had done for him, too.

* * *

 _Rain pours out of a dreary grey sky. It skates along the rooftops and cascades down windowpanes. It collects in the gutters and pools in depressions on the sidewalks. Charlie Bucket sloshes through it with difficulty._

 _Squeezed between a tailor and a hair salon, a cheerful yellow storefront catches Charlie's attention. Through the glass he can see dozens and dozens of fanciful cakes. In the glass counter there are scads of macarons and frosted biscuits and eclairs. Shelves on the back wall hold hundreds of glass jars full of varying amounts of what is presumably loose leaf tea. Painted in flowing script on the glass before his eyes are the words:_

 _17th Street Tea and Confectionery_

 _Since 1975_

 _Montgomery and Montgomery_

 _On the door there is a "help wanted, inquire within" notice. Hesitantly, Charlie pushes the door open. A small silver bell tinkles._

 _Charlie is at once captivated by the delicious smell of the little shop. So distracted is he, that he fails to notice the curious figure emerge from the French doors to the back room._

" _May I help you find anything?" asks said figure in a pleasantly deep voice, and Charlie jumps about a foot in the air._

" _Oh! I didn't mean to startle you," says the now-fully-noticed woman standing in front of him._

 _Before him stands a tall (well, maybe not_ tall _, but taller than his mother) and stately woman in a mint apron. She is of indeterminate age, and the bottom half of her short, white-blond hair is dyed a dark coffee brown. Or maybe the top half of her short, dark coffee brown hair is dyed a white-blond, Charlie can't quite tell._

 _Recovering his speech, he says, "Um, your sign in the window says you are looking for help…?"_

 _The lady knits her brows together. "You're...a bit...young…don't you think?" She sees the look on his face and hastily adds, "But if you could sit down for a bit, we could discuss it over look starved."_

 _In the end, he does not acquire a job, but he does make a friend, and every Tuesday after that he goes to 17th St. Tea and Confectionary to take tea with Francis Abigail Montgomery. Every Tuesday evening he is sent home with a cake or a tin of biscuits or a jar of loose leaf tea. Sometimes Miss Montgomery helps him with his studies, for she is terrifically smart, and other times they talk and she tells him about foreign politics and fantastic adventures and the newest flashy sports cars. On occasion she will let him come into the back and watch her frost cakes or whip egg whites into meringue._

 _Until one Tuesday when he comes to three hundred and seventeen 17th Street, the windows are boarded up and the cheerful OPEN sign is missing. The door is locked, but there is something stuck in the mail slot. Being a curious sort, Charlie tugs it out._

 _He unfolds the slip of paper - it does have his name on it, so he assumes it will be alright to do so - and reads the note:_

 _Charlie-_

 _I'm going away on business for some time. I do not know when I will return. I'm dreadfully sorry I didn't get a chance to say goodbye, but it couldn't be helped._

 _Yours truly,_

 _Francis_

 _He comes by faithfully every Tuesday for months after that. Then once a week becomes once every other week and then he stops going altogether. And then he finds a Golden Ticket and forgets all about three hundred and seventeen 17th Street and the wonders inside he found inside._

* * *

Charlie had to fairly run to catch up to Mr. Wonka, whose long legs walked much faster than Charlie's, especially when motivated by thoughts of potential forced social interaction.

"Mr. Wonka! Do you think we could go see about something for a minute?" asked Charlie. Certainly Miss Montgomery had returned by now, it had been well over a year!

Five minutes later they stood across the street from 17th Street Tea and Confectionery, which seemed to be very much open, judging from the window full of cakes and the OPEN sign hung on the door.

"Would you like to have some tea?" Charlie fairly bounced with excitement.

Willy twitched an eyebrow. "Just so long as I'm not expected to fraternize with the competition," he said petulantly.

"It's _cake_ shoppe," contradicted Charlie. "They don't even sell chocolates."


	3. 3 - The Confectioner

**III : The Confectioner**

 **A/N- I'm going to try to update this at least once a week, but no promises.**

 **Ummm I own this laptop but that's about it.**

The bell above the door rang it's familiar tinkle and the woman at the counter straightened up to greet them. Charlie bit his lip in disappointment. She was not Miss Montgomery. She was, in fact, what Charlie imagined the opposite of Miss Montgomery would be.

"May I help you with anything this evening?" she asked in a distinct American accent.

"Er, actually I was wondering if Miss Montgomery returned yet?" Charlie queried.

The lady nodded, slightly confused. Her boss was nearly always absent, but she wasn't aware her boss had ever been exactly _away_ in the way this boy implied. "She's in the back if ya wanna see her ... "

"Please," said Charlie, grinning from ear to ear. Beside him, a ruffled Willy Wonka whispered something about forced interaction with his adversaries.

The plump woman stuck her round face through the French doors behind her. "Francie, there's a little boy and some fop to see you," she pronounced.

"If you call me "Francie" one more time, I can't be held accountable for my actions," retorted Francis, dusting flour off her lilac apron. She removed said garment and hung it on a hook by the door.

The assistant rolled her eyes. "If ya like I _suppose_ I could stay after and close up for ya. Since you'll undoubtedly be occupied with your guests. "

"Actually, why don't you take the afternoon off?" suggested Francis. Seeing the other woman pause, she added, "I don't like people listening in on my _private_ conversations like I am well aware you do. Now skedaddle!" She waved a hand a shooing motion, turned on her heel, and opened the double doors with a flourish.

Charlie bit back a yelp of excitement and flung his arms around Francis. "I'm _so_ happy to see you again!" he exclaimed.

Francis smiled broadly down at him. "It's nice to be back." She looked up Charlie's companion. "And I see you've brought a friend, Charles."

Charlie bounced back and forth on his heels. "Yep! He's Willy Wonka!"

One of Francis's arched eyebrows traveled several inches north.

Willy smiled back somewhat awkwardly at her. Social situations were not exactly his forte.

Charlie looked as if he could have gone to space on merely his happiness. "So, where did you go?"

"Before? I had business to attend to internationally that took longer than expected. I'm terribly sorry I couldn't give advance notice." She did look terribly apologetic, perhaps over-dramatically so. "I've been back for several months now, though I can now understand how it would prove difficult for you to pop in."

She turned her attention to the chocolatier. "Would you like some coffee, or tea? That is, if you're not in too much of a rush. I know how business gets during the holidays."

Charlie was acutely aware of Willy's impending declination, so he hurried to cut it off. "Tea would be excellent, please!"

Willy wished fervently for a natural disaster to interrupt his imminent 'fraternization with the competition.'

They sat at a little round table in the window, sipping purple tea from a curious transparent tea set. "Unfortunate that I wasn't here for the contest," said Francis, stirring yet another mint green sugar cube into her tea. "I heard it did marvelous things for the tourist industry."

Charlie was still glowing and unable to sit still. "It was fantastic!" he exclaimed, putting extra emphasis on the last three syllables. "And now I'm heir to the factory!" Out of the corner of his eye he could see his mentor slowly sliding as far away from Francis as he could without attracting her attention.

"So I heard. The newspapers were in quite the tizzy." She took another sugar cube - although this one was light pink - and dissolved it into her tea.

"I had to quit school 'cause of the reporters; that's partly why I didn't come by for ages," explained Charlie. He wasn't sure how else to explain his lack of visits.

"You really didn't miss much, except for Gwendolyn takes over when I'm absent," Francis assured him. "On the other hand, _I_ missed quite a bit. Perhaps I could have you over for dinner sometime, and you could get me all up to date. You ought to bring your family, or someone. I've never met them!"

Charlie was surprised at her offer. All their previous visits had been at the shop, and although he assumed she knew he took the sweets she gave him home to his parents, they had never had a conversation about the matter. Come to think of it, they had never had a conversation about parents at all. Perhaps Francis, like Mr. Wonka, was touchy about the subject. No matter, he was an expert at dealing with Mr. Wonka's quirks, so surely Francis's would be no big deal.

"That'd be fantastic!" he agreed. "Just let me know when!"

* * *

 **A/N: Don't! Go! Into! Strange! People's! Houses! Even! If! They! Are! Friendly! And! Give! You! Cake!**


	4. 4 - The Dinner

**IV : The Dinner**

 **A/N: I dunno if this came out how it sounded in my head.**

 **As always, rights go to their rightful owners.**

 **"Review?" The author smiles somewhat creepily at you, revealing several rows of pointy teeth. You are sufficiently disturbed.**

 _"When they've got you where they want you, will you give it to them?" - Leisure Cruise (Double Digit Love)_

* * *

Our poor chocolatier was at a loss as to why he was sat in the back seat of a black Bentley navigating through the city traffic at seven thirty-eight the following Friday. You see, he vaguely remembered having some sort of conversation with the Buckets about a dinner and had a dim recollection of dressing in his nicest clothes, but overall he really had no memory of the past few hours. That tended to happen whenever he became overly anxious.

He did, however, have a very vivid memory of Charlie's pleading eyes coupled with the phrase "Please come with me." Darned children and their pleading eyes.

Pleading eyes and foggy memories aside, there was no escaping the fact he and Charlie were fast -or slow, really, as the traffic was deplorable - approaching a dinner with one Francis Montgomery.

At seven forty-four the Bentley drew up in front of 7th Avenue's largest - and most expensive - apartment building. They got out of the car and walked into the sizable, lavishly furnished foyer where they waited for Francis to buzz them in.

The elevator took them all the way to the top floor, which was forty-seven stories up and required a key code just to push the button, and let them out into another foyer filled with plants and a full length mirror. On the dark wooden door was a brushed silver knocker. Charlie reached up and tapped it against the door.

The door opened almost immediately, as though the butler who had opened it had been watching them and anticipated the knock. He nodded curtly to them and after taking their coats gestured for them to follow him. They were led through the entryway and to the spacious parlour, where Miss Montgomery was sat in a muted green armchair across from a vast wall of floor-to-ceiling glass windows, smoking a cigarette with her back to them. Through the glass one could see all the way to the harbour.

"You'll ruin your palette, smoking like that," said Willy Wonka almost immediately.

"Good evening to you, too," replied Francis in a tone that suggested she was less disgruntled than her words indicated.

Charlie had always known his strange confectioner friend was well off, but when she had said "flat" he hadn't exactly thought of the penthouse of a forty-seven story apartment building with a _butler_ , of all things. The "flat" was furnished with a lot of black and white balanced with washed-out colours, pale creams, and rich greys. The style was quite modern, but in an antique way which reflected the personality of its inhabitant well.

Francis rose from her armchair. She was dressed in a champagne crushed velvet dress and glittering heels which made her quite as tall as Wonka (which was still not exceptionally tall, but to an eleven-year-old boy pretty much everyone is tall). Charlie, meanwhile, was making himself quite dizzy trying to see the whole apartment at once.

"Here, let me show you about before you make yourself sick," Francis said after Charlie had spun about at least four times, and they walked to the right into a vast kitchen filled with expensive-looking appliances and racks of spices galore. Charlie had been up to his mentor's living quarters once and he was sure that this kitchen rivaled even Wonka's.

The kitchen led into the dining room. The space was perfectly circular, and the shiny tiled ceiling went up at least ten feet, in order to accomadate a massive chandelier. In the centre of the room there was an industrial dining table set with delicate white china and shiny silverware. On the walls hung frosted mirrors and scientific drawings of plants Charlie wasn't quite sure he had ever seen.

Francis stood at the head of the table behind her chair. "Sit wherever you like," she instructed, and sat down herself. Charlie seated himself to Francis's left and Mr. Wonka sat on the other side of Charlie (as far away from Francis as he could get without looking impolite).

"Would you like anything to drink?" asked Francis politely. "I have ginger ale and sarsaparilla and cream soda and orange cream soda and root beer and, of course, a whole cellar of wine and champagne and liquor et cetera." She smiled in Willy's general direction.

"I'll have ginger ale, please," said Charlie politely.

"Just water." Willy's voice was at least one octave higher than it usually was, which made it very high indeed.

Almost instantaneously, the butler appeared with their requested beverages. But then he left, and left behind an awkward silence.

"So," began Francis at last. "How's school going?"

Charlie frowned. "Well, now that I'm...well, now that I'm inheriting the factory, the um...press..." Poor Charlie, being a very good kid, was uncomfortable with his fame. Luckily Francis was understanding.

"I always thought it would be nice to be homeschooled," she said. "You can do your work whenever you like. Is it more work than regular school?"

"Well, it _is_ nice having free time, but sometimes when I get stuck I wish I had someone to explain it," here he paused, glanced to his left, and hurriedly added, "in a...simpler...way."

Willy huffed. "It's not _my_ fault schools don't teach proper geography and insist on 'Common Core'. I have never seen a more ridiculous way to add in all my life!"

"No, that would be the government's fault, always sticking their fingers in where they have no business," said Francis, who was slightly surprised because in all the time she had spent in the presence of Willy Wonka he had never said more than two words. "You're welcome to come by whenever you like, you know. Like before."

"Thanks," said Charlie.

The butler reappeared with their food, which was no less extravagant than anything else Francis did. Charlie didn't even know what half of it was - or why there were such large plates for such small amounts - but it tasted delicious, and that was what mattered, right?

After Charlie recounted the Tour, he requested to know what business Francis had in Switzerland. He felt he deserved to know, although he didn't know quite why. Why _did_ Francis, who presumably frosted cakes for a living, apparently have so much money?!

"Well, the evening before, I received a phone call … it seemed some friends of mine got themselves into a predicament". Francis's pleasant smile twitched, as though the memory was unpleasant.

 **A/N: I dunno if any of you know about the "then who's flying the plane?" meme, but who** _ **is**_ **driving the car? Not Wonka, not Charlie, and not an Oompa Loompa, so…**

 **Tune in next week for the next episode of psych! Francis isn't who you think she was! Willy you gotta get out while the gettin's good!**


	5. 5 - The Deal

**V : The Deal**

 **A/N: This is short but not sweet. As always, I own zilch.**

 **/slides in next to you/**

 **/sticks the key in the ignition/**

 **/turns up the radio/**

 **/the radio says "REVIEW"/**

 _"I find sometimes that friends can be significantly more dangerous than enemies." - Mycroft Holmes (BBC's_ Sherlock _)_

* * *

 _A phone rings. Long pale fingers reach to answer it._

" _1975," says the voice on the other end. "It's 2013. Do you have an hour?"_

" _Depends. Do you have someone good on your hitlist?"_

" _You know we do," replies the voice silkily. "Do you?"_

" _Alright then. Shall I see you down at the harbour?"_

" _We were thinking more like Switzerland, actually."_

" _Switzerland?!" Francis sounds put off._

" _Yes, Switzerland. Nice and quiet. I'll text you the details."_

 _The line goes dead._

 _Four people sit at a table in a drab, austere room. If one were to walk outside they would realize the room is a temporary one, built on a disused backlot in a sketchy_ _neighbourhood._

 _The handsome dark-skinned man to Francis's left speaks first. "We can pay you an advance of five hundred grand. After it's finished we'll pay you the rest. We've already set up the accounts."_

" _Alright," agrees Francis._

" _The less evidence you can leave, the better," says the petite grey-haired man to her right. "We can cover-up little details but try not have any witnesses. You know, don't get involved."_

 _The grey-haired man's spectacles keep sliding down his nose. They were bought solely for the purpose of disguise, and this man is too cheap to get the nice kind._

" _Yes, yes, don't put his head on a stick and parade it about, I only_ have _done this for you about twenty times."_

" _This time's different, though," says the redhead across from her. "That place is a bloody fortress. Even we can't break in."_

" _Oh, I don't plan on breaking in," says Francis loftily._

* * *

"It seemed some friends of mine were in a bit of a predicament. When I say _friend…_ " her voice turned dark. "At any rate, I had to go and sort it out for them. Took much longer than expected."

Francis seemed rather anxious to move off the subject. See, when you are attempting to conduct covert operations it is usually best not to let people not involved know too much. It was lucky that Francis was a fabulous lier. Lucky for her, that is.

"Um ... ," said Charlie at last, because that explanation was quite short in relation to the amount of time Francis was gone and the silence had stretched sufficiently to signify the time for a change in topic. "I didn't know you owned an apartment building."

"Tch, I must have mentioned it at one point or another. Confectioneering pays quite well, if you're good at it. Although I expect you would have already figured that out." She glanced pointedly at Wonka.

Wonka chose not to comment, because he was already terrifically jealous of Francis (even if he hadn't admitted it to himself yet) and any similarities between them were irritating.

After dinner Francis brought in a cake and sliced it. It was by far the best cake Charlie had ever had. It had vanilla and chocolate ice cream swirled together in the middle and one layer each of white, yellow, and chocolate cake. The outside was frosted in a thick layer of buttercream icing with another layer of melted chocolate dripped over it. An assortment of thin wafers and tiny, delicate pastries topped it.

They didn't talk much during dessert, but afterwards Francis repeated her offer about helping Charlie with his schoolwork and then he and Willy departed.

A single figure silhouetted in the bay window clicked the safety on her handgun back on.

* * *

 **A/N: Hold on to your hats kids, because things are gonna get real crazy real quick.**

 **'1975' is Francis's code name, and also the name of my favorite band, if anyone cares, which they probably don't.**


	6. 6 - The Invitation

**XI : The Invitation**

 **A/N: Here, have a nice long chapter to compensate for that last one. Also, it's February 1st!**

 **Our dear,** _ **dear**_ **Buckets, so trusting of the entirely wrong person.**

 **Feel free to, you know, review. It makes my cold dead corpse type a little faster.**

 _"Spin me round again and rub my eyes, this can't be happening." - Imogen Heap (Hide and Seek)_

* * *

As soon as they were back in the car, Willy breathed a great sigh of relief. That woman Montgomery was bringing back unpleasant memories by the bushel, which was most vexatious. Jealousy and irritation were two emotions that never went very well together.

He didn't sleep that night, instead working on diminishing the ever-growing stack of paperwork on his desk. Included in that paperwork was an elegant cream envelop, which was unceremoniously dumped into the rubbish without further investigation.

* * *

Francis had a problem. His name was William Wonka, and he owned the world's largest and most successful chocolate company. He also knew a lot of government secrets.

First of all, it is important to note that Willy Wonka did, in fact, close his factory because of spies, but not because the spies were stealing his recipes (although they were). It is not really my place to tell you of the terrible event that transpired the night before Wonka closed his factory forever, but I can tell you what happened afterwards. Wonka got a fake ID and got the heck out.

You see, there are many islands in the South Pacific, a surprising number of which are 'officially uninhabited'. Of course, the higher-ups know full well these islands are not, in fact, uninhabited. They are used for a variety of top-secret and ethically questionable projects, which are deemed 'classified'. Therefore, if one were to steal information, or, say … test subjects … they would be blacklisted immediately.

How was Willy Wonka supposed to know that islands Wikipedia considered "uninhabited" were not the place to flee in times of distress?

* * *

Charlie sat in his room at his desk pouring over geometry problems. He was beyond frustrated, having passed mildly exasperated some time ago. His parents had gone out in the city for the day, and Willy was shut in his office, presumably recuperating from last evening's dinner.

He glanced at the clock. Half past ten. Francis ought to be in her shop by now. He could do with the change of scenery. He packed up his materials, left a note for his parents, and set off to 17th Street.

He found Francis in the back room, icing a cake. It was on a sort of spinning plate, which she rotated with one hand while piping icing evenly along the top in a spiral. A record player in the corner played scratchy music in french.

"Hello, Charles," Francis greeted him, without looking up.

"Hi."

Francis finished a spiral and turned around and beamed at him. She glanced at his messenger bag stuffed with papers. "Stuck?"

Charlie bit his lip. "Yeah. But if you're busy…"

Francis laughed. "I'm _always_ busy. Why don't you go sit down somewhere and I'll find you in a couple of minutes with some tea."

* * *

"And if the volume of cube _x_ is 216 units and the length, base, and height are all congruent, what is the height of of one side, measured in units?"

"The cubed root of 216?"

"Which is?"

"6."

"Exactly. Making more sense?"

"Yeah, I guess."

There was a companionable silence.

"Does he go out often? Now that he's got you, I mean," asked Francis casually, after several minutes had elapsed.

Charlie giggled. "If you only knew how much effort it took to make him take me to the park, you wouldn't be asking. That was the first time he left in like, _ages_. Sometimes he has to go out on business, though."

To Charlie - and a lot of others, although he didn't know - Francis was tremendously smart. She knew all about the governments and politics and random stuff common people weren't supposed to know. He had asked her about it once, but she just said she had a good memory and lots of spare time. Charlie didn't know if he quite believed that.

What kind of business did a cake baker have in Switzerland for eight months? What kind of cake business made enough money to buy whole highrises?

And, of course, that niggling question in the back of his mind _why him?_ There was nothing extraordinary about him, for heaven's sake. Why take such a special interest in him?

Francis held his gaze for a long time, lips pressed together in thought, interrupted only when the bell on the door jingled and someone entered. She turned to the gentleman, a grey-haired fellow in a tailored business suit, who entered. He held a black briefcase in one hand and his fedora in the other. She spoke to him in another language, perhaps french?

The man was silent for a moment before he replied, also in french.

Francis beamed again at Charlie and stood up.

"I'm sorry, but I need to talk to this gentleman privately, Charles," she said. "I wasn't expecting him until tomorrow; I'm sorry to cut this lesson short."

Charlie didn't quite know what to make of the stately stranger. It was all suddenly very mysterious.

* * *

"So," began Francis, exhaling smoke from the cigarette between her fingers.

"So," replied the man, and Francis started to open the case, but the man quite nearly took off her fingers slamming it shut.

"I can't help feeling ever since Berlin that you're losing your touch. I can't trust you aren't being followed," he said tersely.

"I'm flattered, but you know what happened in Berlin was not my fault. Come to the back room." She led him into the back and motioned to set the case on the table.

* * *

Charlie sat on a purple patent leather stool in the Inventing Room, watching Willy do fancy calculations with lots of uncommon denominators and numbers with slashes through them. They were attempting to create a sweet that made things taste like their opposite. At first they had tried modifying another candy which made sour things taste sweet, but now Willy had scrapped that idea in favour of starting from scratch. It had something to with pH and the viscosity of frog saliva extract, but that bit had gone over Charlie's head. Charlie had left his mentor fussing over calculations alone in favour of doing his English assignment.

Well, that was one reason. The other reason was the tension he felt rising between his mentor and Francis. He had a feeling that the fancy cream envelop he had received today from the latter might just be the catalyst to that tension.

That envelop wasn't going to open itself.

* * *

Up until Charlie had come to the factory, Willy ate whenever was convenient (which tended to be four a.m., midnight, and times like that), and slept, well … he drank a lot of coffee. But dear Mrs. Bucket insisted he have a least one square meal a day, and therefore he usually came to dinner.

He tended to be fashionably late.

Consequently, Charlie had already opened the thick cream envelope and was reading aloud the invitation written in swirly gold calligraphy when his mentor arrived.

 _'You have been Formally Invited_

 _as a Guest of Frances Montgomery_

 _to the_

 _Two-Hundred and Sixty-Sixth_

 _Annual Culinary Convention_

 _at the_

 _Grand Hyatt Hotel_

 _on_

 _Saturday, the Twentieth of December, Two Thousand and Seventeen_

 _Eight o'clock to Midnight'_

A small note fell out of the envelope, written in the familiar sharp script that punctuated the margins of his math notes.

 _'Charles-_

 _No doubt your mentor has been invited, but he has never attended in the past despite having an award, well, several actually, named after him. I didn't expect this year to be any different, so you may come as my guest. I think you will value the experience. I will come to pick you up at six-thirty._

 _Signed,_

 _Frances Abigail Montgomery'_

Willy Wonka dropped his hat and Charlie looked up, trying to think of a way to temperate this situation.

"Mr. Wonka, you never told me there was an award named after you," he said at last.

Wonka glanced back and forth between the invitation in Charlie's hands a trifle confused and a lot annoyed. How dare that-that _interloper_ take _his_ Charlie to that god-awful function?! _How dare she?!_

Meekly, Charlie explained, "Miss Montgomery invited me to the "Annual Culinary Convention."

"Yes, I can see that," spat Wonka.

"That's so kind of her," said Mrs. Bucket in an effort to soothe the situation. "Goodness knows what we'd do without her, and we haven't even had the pleasure of meeting her!"

"Perhaps we ought to invite her 'round for dinner sometime," said Mr. Bucket, who wasn't as well-versed palliating measures.

Willy Wonka was decidedly incensed. First this … _Montgomery_ … had stolen his valuable time with Charlie, and now she was inviting him to the _Annual Culinary Convention?!_ And as if that wasn't enough, now she was being invited to dinner! In his own factory, no less! For the past fourteen months he had grown very accustomed to being the centre of Charlie's attention, and now he felt justly superseded.

* * *

When Charlie found Mr. Wonka the next evening, he was sat in a purple chair with half his hair in foils, reading _Vogue._ Charlie had never seen someone get their hair highlighted, and therefore promptly forgot what he had come to say.

After several minutes of awkward silence in which Charlie stared at Wonka and Wonka stared at the latest fashions, Wonka felt compelled to inquire why Charlie had come to find him.

"Um…," said Charlie.

"Very eloquent," replied Mr. Wonka sarcastically. "If it's about the Culinary Convention, you know I mind you going."

"Mum said you're jealous. But since _you_ aren't going, I didn't think you'd object. Don't grown-ups always want kids to have experiences? And why is your hair in foil paper?"

"I'm not a grown-up," said Willy petulantly. "And I'm touching up my highlights ."

Under his breath, he added, "I never said I wasn't going, either."

 **A/N : This, kids, is why your teachers don't let you use Wikipedia as a source for your essays.**

 **Linkwonka88 - you can't just,,,,,,,spoil the plot like that,,,,,,,,,,gosh,,!1! !**


	7. 7 - Unconventional

**XII : Unconventional**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own** _ **Charlie and the Chocolate Factory**_ **or** _ **Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator**_ **.**

 **A/N: The first names of Mr. and Mrs. Bucket were never, to my knowledge, mentioned. I'm going to call them Clara and Clarence.**

" _We all know when people are lying to us, we just don't want to listen." - Jonas Maliki (sense8)_

* * *

Charlie stood on tiptoe so as to be able to see out of one of the high factory windows. It was snowing again, and nearly dark. The street outside the factory gates was quite nearly empty except for a set of headlights in the near distance. ' _Surely,_ thought Charlie, _that must be Francis!'_ He ran out to the side door where they were to meet.

The sleek black Porsche pulled to a stop at the curb, and the driver hastened to open the door for Francis. She had curled her hair for the occasion so that it was half its usual length, and in one hand she carried a white cake box. Charlie greeted her and beckoned her inside the factory.

Charlie swung the door open for her - which with it being a very spy-proof door and therefore fearfully heavy, was no small feat - and Francis stepped inside and removed her overcoat. She wore a long cream evening gown and she bowed before the Buckets and presented them with the cake box and a beaming smile, which left them somewhat speechless.

"Consider it an early Christmas present," she said. "I also brought a bottle of '98 Cabernet Sauvignon. I would recommend decanting it."

Mrs. Bucket was the first to rediscover the power of speech. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Montgomery. I'm Clara, and this is my husband, Clarence; his parents Joe and Josephine; and my parents, George and Georgina. Thank you ever so much for the gifts. Did you make the cake?"

"Of course I did!" replied Francis. "Have a look if you like."

Charlie wasted no time in opening the white box. The cake was truly a work of art, square with pale pink frosting and lovely fondant roses that at first glance looked real. There were even little "water" drops on some of the petals made of clear sugar glaze.

The Buckets smiled and made appropriate appreciative noises.

"Alright then," Francis exclaimed, clapping her hands briskly. "Shall we be going? The only thing worse than being early is being late!"

"Don't forget your coat; it's rather cold this evening," Mrs. Bucket reminded Charlie. "Have fun dear."

Francis smiled around the room. "I'll try to have him back before one. Sometimes these things tend to run late." She laughed and opened the door to go out.

"Charlies likes me better," said Wonka, rather childishly. He had been loitering inconspicuously by the door waiting for a chance to insult the woman who saw fit to usurp his position as Charlie's Favourite Person.

Francis only arched one perfect eyebrow and swept out the door. Subtilty was key in these matters.

* * *

Willy Wonka had been to space. He had been to _Space Hotel U.S.A._ , in fact. Truthfully, it was a slight accident. He hadn't realized quite how far up he was until he was already in orbit. But it was all good and fine.

Of course, then he had met the Vermicious Knids, who, like all good aliens, were hellbent on killing him. It was certainly tremendously lucky he had had the foresight to make his Great Glass Elevator Vermicious Knid-proof, as well as bombproof, bulletproof, weatherproof, shatterproof, heatproof, airtight, watertight, and non-conductive. Heck, it even had it's own centre of gravity!

Perhaps if he possessed even better foresight he would have stayed at _Space Hotel U.S.A_ , because he would have happily taken any number of Vermicious Knids over the people at the _Annual Culinary Convention_.

* * *

There certainly was no shortage of press at the convention. They lined up at the edge of the long plush carpet which led into the Grand Hyatt Hotel. Glossy black limousines dropped off scores of millionaires and chefs and chocolatiers and owners of vast corporations.

Flashbulbs popped when they got out of the car. Reporters jostled for position, sticking microphones out and asking after names and occupations and goodness, where _did_ you get that dress? Charlie hadn't thought there would be this much of a to-do!

In the lobby young boys in tuxedos took their hats and coats and gloves. Two of them opened the ornate double doors.

"Presenting Madame Francis Montgomery and Messier Charlie Bucket!" announced a deep Italian voice.

There was a round of applause and they entered into a large ballroom. There was a long table down the centre of the room, filled with ostentatiously dressed ladies and gentlemen (mostly gentlemen actually), who turned as one to appraise their newest guests. There were only two empty seats: the head seat and one seat to right. Charlie searched the two long rows of faces until he found his mentor glowering into a glass of something electric blue and fizzy. To his left was a portly blond man talking a mile a minute.

There was a sheaf of papers with a black wax seal stamped on it, written in neat calligraphy, at Francis's place. A tuxedo-clad waiter appeared out of nowhere land pulled out their chairs.

"Anything to drink?" asked the waiter.

"Champagne, please," replied Francis.

"Er, just water," said Charlie, rather flustered, when the waiter turned to him. He was not used to this fancy world that Francis suddenly seemed to fit into.

"Alright," said Francis after a few minutes had elapsed. She stood up.

Almost immediately the whole room fell silent.

"Welcome," said Francis, "to the Annual Culinary Convention. I trust you all had a … prosperous … year." She looked down at the first sheet on the stack before her. "I think I shall present awards after the eighth course, if all deem it agreeable?" A round of applause seemed to agree.

"Right then, shall we commence dinner? Let's see, the first course of …" she paused to shuffle the papers. "... Moulard Duck foie gras with a celery root and French leek radicchio salad, by Sir Scott Edward Malcolm of the restaurant Times New Roman in central Berlin." Apparently Sir Scott Edward Malcolm was the corpulent individual in a striped suit at the opposite end of the table, because everyone turned to him and clapped. Someone really needed to tell him horizontal stripes didn't work on everyone.

The dinner continued on in this fashion, and Charlie found quite a lot of the time he hadn't the slightest idea what he was eating.

After the eighth course, which consisted of a small fish with its head still on topped with funny little frilly purple things which tasted better than they looked, all the waiters came out and took away all the silverware and china, and all the guests turned their chairs to the left side of the room, where there was a small podium and two tables' worth of gleaming trophies.

It was time for the awards.

 **A/N: Ok so when I wrote about Sir Scott Edward Malcolm being a "corpulent individual" I was thinking about the expression "Great Scott!" haha get it**

 **If you review I will weep tears of joy and genuflect before you.**


	8. 8 - The Two Spies

**Chapter XIII : The Spies**

 **A/N: You know what they say about blondes…**

 ***roundhouse kicks open the push/pull door* Review!**

"You think you've got it figured out, you think you got it in control." - Leisure Cruise (Wake Up the Ghosts)

* * *

 _Flashbulbs pop in his face but they cannot rival the brilliance of his smile. 'The World's Best Chocolatier, Willy Wonka' will be the headline of every newspaper, magazine, and tabloid tomorrow. He's just returned from a two-week trip to India where he has built an entire palace of chocolate - that melted to the ground, but the press doesn't care about that part. His name is on the lips of everyone with eyes and ears, and on the candy in their hands, too._

 _Red carpet events seem to fill his every weekend._ Fortune 500 _listed Wonka Chocolate Company as the sixth highest-grossing corporation last year, just after General Motors and Exxon Mobile._

 _He turns once more for the cameras and walks away from the step-and-repeat banner. The gaudy orange is clashing horribly with his brown and turquoise striped suit. Julius is waiting for him a little ways away with two martini glasses full of something pale green and probably much too strong, because the press doesn't care about Slugworth's Candies._

 _Julius Slugworth is actually quite an intellectual even if it comes off rather forced, and attractive in classical way despite his unfortunate last name. It's Sebastian and Moriah who are the dumb ones, always trying to pawn off his work. In the back of his mind he suspects that Julius is helping them but he doesn't want to admit it to himself, at least, not yet, because what he has with Julius is so different from what he has ever had with anyone else. And Sebastian and Moriah aren't here tonight, just Julius and himself, and technically Julius is only here as his plus-one, but that's beside the point._

 _He can worry about the spies tomorrow._

He came back back to the present with a sharp breath.

Francis must have joined the scene right after that, he reasoned. That was the last year he had ever been truly happy.

After the awards ceremony the long table and all the chairs were cleared away and the room turned into a dance floor. Desserts and delectables of all sorts were set out on small tables dotting the edges of the room.

Francis stood with Charlie by the table that held her cake - a true masterpiece in white and gold - watching with some amusement a flustered Wonka attempting to escape over-zealous party-goers.

"Do you think we ought to go and rescue him?" asked Charlie.

"I don't see why - wait, actually, yes!" A blonde girl had joined the knot of people and simultaneously caught Francis's attention.

The people dispersed as Francis walked up, all except the blonde girl.

"I'm Francis, in case you're deaf and blind," said Francis after it was clear the blonde was not leaving anytime soon. "You are … ?"

A short pause. "Maurine." She smiled self-consciously.

"Pleasure to meet you," replied Francis in a manner that suggested it was anything but.

Maurine glanced left. Francis followed her gaze to where Wonka had been standing earlier. He was now absent.

"I'll be right back," said Maurine to no one in particular, and faded into the crowd. Francis tracked her progress out of the ballroom out of the corner of her eye.

"If you'll excuse me," interjected Francis politely after Maurine had left the room. She vanished into the crowd leaving Charlie rather stunned in her wake. _What a strange interaction_ he thought.

Maurine nearly ran down the hall, would have actually, if she were not wearing heels. There was a small balcony off of the hallway where the elevators were, and she spied Wonka leaning on the railing with his back to her. Maurine crossed the hall and put her hand on the handle of the sliding glass door. And then someone else put their hand over her mouth and another on her wrist, vice-like.

She startled but Francis did not remove either of her hands.

"I don't think so," whispered Francis, and tugged Maurine back across the hall and down some service stairs to a janitorial closet.

"You're going to kill him aren't you?"

Francis slid her the hand she had taken off Maurine's mouth down into her jacket pockets. "Eventually. I like to play with my food before I eat it."

Maurine's eyes widened and her eyes darted between Francis's hand and the door. "You're sick. Don't you know what he's gone thorough?"

"I know, I just don't care. Oh! Don't even bother trying to get away now," said Francis in a bored tone. Her free hand had found a concealed pocket in the interior of Maurine's jacket and was now retrieving a small black handgun and a silencer.

"That's all they gave you?" Francis sounded disgusted. "How stupid are they, really, ' _Maurine'_? Next time don't pause before before you say your name. Honestly, you American spies keep getting worse and worse. It's a scientific marvel. Like reverse evolution."

"You're can't win this war, Francis," spat the spy. "You don't even know the half of what you're doing."

"It's not a war, you sodding moron. It's just a hit, like the fifty or a hundred others I've managed to successfully pull off. Politics are other people's problem. I'm just the weapon. Now, would you rather choke to death or bleed out? I was going to do it quick, but you've managed to irritate me."

"It's not really like anything I say is going to matter, is it?"

"No, not really." Francis attached the silencer and took the safety off of Maurine's gun. "I think I'm going to shoot you, because it's funny if I do it with your own gun. Any last words?"

"Fuck you."

"Go to hell," laughed Francis and pulled the trigger three times in quick succession.

* * *

Wonka, oblivious to what had just taken place behind him, sunk deeper into reverie.

 _They are standing in a darkroom, developing photographs for some friends, shoulders brushing occasionally as Wonka lifts pictures out of their chemical baths. Wonka has only met Julius just last Friday night but he feels so strange around him, so nervous._

 _Julius's profile glows with the dim red light. His nose is perfectly straight; his jaw sharp as is his brow. When he smiles, as he does now, his eyes crinkle upwards._

 _After all the pictures are developed Wonka turns as if to leave but_ _suddenly he can hear Julius asking, 'Will, do you want to go to the cinema with me sometime?' all in a rush and his rabbit heart goes thumpthumpthumpthump..._

 _They are very close (too close? probably) and Wonka can feel the slight change in temperature where Julius's hand hovers beside his cheek._

 _He should have known then that the lines between people exist for a reason._

 **A/N: Wow this chapter took literal years to write?! And it still seems stiff :0 Things are about to get real interesting, so be sure to review (please)!**


	9. ClosingEpilogue

**A/N: So, the thing is, is, I'm prolly never going to finish this story. No one seems to read it and I don't have any motivation to write it. Even if I did, I would prolly rewrite it (again) anyway bc it seems sloppy or juvenile or too dramatic or something. So for now it is eighty-sixed.**

 **However, I do have the plot completely worked out and the epilogue written. So if you were rlly into this story and just never reviewed, I have created a list of the rest of the major plot points, in chronological order. At the end of the list will be the epilogue.**

-So Wonka had a boyfriend (Julius) when he was young, right around the time his factory first opened. Julius had a twin brother named Commodus who was very controlling. Commodus initially encouraged Julius to forge a close relationship with Wonka and gain his trust in order to steal his recipes/inventions. Commodus was unaware the relationship turned romantic. When he found out, he was very, shall we say, _pissed off_. And so he killed Julius in a fit of rage and then impersonated him. Commodus knew that Wonka was beginning to suspect what was going on, so he went to him and pretended to apologize. Wonka accepted his apology and was going to help "Julius" escape his twin's wrath. However Commodus, who throughout the conversation has had trouble controlling his temper, suddenly turns and commits a horrible act to punish Wonka for being romantically involved with Julius. Wonka escapes before Commodus can kill him, too, but never realizes the whole time it was Commodus, not Julius. Oh yeah, and Julius's and Commodus's last name is Slugworth.

-Somewhere in here I make a note of how Wonka traveled to a lot of obscure locations after he closed his factory. He found a little island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, where the Oompa-Loompas originated. He was unaware at the time it was a government genetic testing facility of sorts, and he had effectively broken in and stole one of their projects. It took the government a while to figure out who it was, so that's why they took a decade and a half to find Francis and request her services.

-Quick basics on Francis: she is an assassin who runs 17th St. Tea and Confectionary as a cover. She grew up in a wealthy family that could afford to send her to a top culinary school, so she actually is very good. Too bad she fell in with the criminal world.

-After the Annual Culinary Convention, Francis realizes she has a problem, er, crush. It quickly evolves into a sort of obsession. She does some deep research and uncovers everything about Wonka and his past life, as well as the truth about Julius and Commodus.

-The Buckets invite Francis to dinner in the factory and she asks Wonka out to dinner in front of the family because she knows the Buckets will force him to go. The Buckets think their rivalry is cute, but the truth is Wonka deeply hates Francis.

-They don't end up going to dinner, but rather Francis takes him to a four-story house in the country where Commodus is lying low. She thinks exacting revenge on Commodus for what he did to Wonka will make Wonka like her. Unfortunately Commodus is more crafty than Francis gives him credit for, and still harbours a huge grudge against Wonka.

-Everything might have been fine except for Francis's obsessive "love" for Wonka. They get into a fight and Francis makes an attempt on Commodus's life, but he corners her on the edge of the roof. Francis has a choice: she can walk away or she can take her only chance to kill Commodus by falling off the roof, which would be lethal to her as well, as Commodus is sure to drag her down with him. She, being the obsessive-borderline-insane woman she is, chooses the latter option. Wonka assumes they are both dead and goes back to the factory.

EPILOGUE

He doesn't remember in aching detail those minutes when Francis stood on top of that decrepit old building and dull thud when they hit the ground. He has erased that day from his memory, and all the other days with Francis, too.

Francis remembers those moments too, in those rare moments she is conscious. Most of the time she is unconscious, gone with drugs or the rush of murder or as of late, pain. Last summer she was captured by a terrorist group and tortured for information. Well, she won't talk and they won't kill her because she's the only one who knows, so she figures they can go on this way forever.

Charlie doesn't know what happened to Francis, but 17th St. Tea and Confectionary is shut now, and he hasn't seen her since the dinner. As far as Wonka goes, he pretends he never met her. Charlie still misses Francis, but by now it is only a dull ache in the middle of his chest.

Time heals some wounds.

 _Finite._


End file.
